


Slipping Through Cracks (I Can’t Stop)

by Kaiwren



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz, White Collar
Genre: Check doesthedogdie for a shit tonne of trigger warnings for films and tv shows(I think?), Gen, also warnings for gay bashings and stuff like that, an I’m not even technically photosensitive those bitches just give me a migraine, did the opening scene of the new it trigger anyone else???, they also have strobe warnings yeet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2020-10-29 19:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20801456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiwren/pseuds/Kaiwren
Summary: It’s not like Neal has planned on, well, Neal being permanent. Eventually, something will happen, and he will move on. But for now, Neal is fun, and maybe it’ll be sort of soothing- like a long rest before running another marathon.Except runners get caught. You just have to smile, wave, and walk away slowly. Simple, really.Neal was going to bide his time originally. But now? These suits might be his friends. Maybe even a future, a relaxing one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So.... this is my first fic on ao3. Be kind, I’m tired and gay. 
> 
> Also, this fanfic will examine the life experiences by someone living under an identity that the main character has assumed near-completely as their own. There may be instances in which the assumed identity will slip suddenly- this will be shown by a change of name and manners of comportment. If this will negatively affect you, or you’re simply not comfortable reading fiction with this addressed, please do not continue.
> 
> This is also tagged major character death- that is due to the person living under the assumed identity having faked their death. I do not plan on actually killing off any major characters, except maybe enemies of the main character, or those who die in canon. Yassen will not die. 
> 
> In fact, I found his death in the books highly unsatisfactory and mostly pointless. Hey, angst, anyone? It was mainly used to strip Alex of any adults who may seem so much as mildly protective of him, anyway.
> 
> This may also contain philosophical discussions or monologues about death, family loss, war crimes, theft, government-sanctioned abuse of children, and general emotional pain. Please do not subject yourself to uncomfortable subjects, or trigger yourself just because you can make it through.
> 
> That’s my job whenever I want to go to a party with strobes. Lmao. 
> 
> In addition to all of the triggers mentioned above, individual triggers I have will be mentioned in the notes. Please read it. 
> 
> Thank you, have a good read, and obey the mandatory rest breaks.

Neal looked around, stepping carefully off of the sidewalk before sprinting across the street into the FBI building. A side glance revealed more cameras eyeing him than he was comfortable with- whatever. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been convicted of a more serious crime than simple jaywalking. And he was running late- Peter wouldn’t be so forgiving as he usually was; the loud, blaring tone of the alert alone told Neal that it was a serious case. 

Neal consciously slowed his pace as he sauntered through the doors of the federal building, pulling a wide, fictitious grin onto his face. The security guards looked up, nodding sternly as he approached. When he had first started, they had reacted badly; their eyes piercing him like they suspected he would turn on them any moment, pick their pockets perhaps. Their hands had also drifted closer to their belts, whether reaching for the taser or gun, Neal did not wish to ponder. It was not as if he were permitted any weapon, nor would Neal be the one to jeopardise a good deal. 

“Hey man, how’s it going? Kid stopped skipping class? Your dog still okay? I have a story about an old dog, ya know. Still miss him, bastard he was. Always howling about something, never knew to shut up. My life’s been going okay, light in the apartment is still pretty great for art. Not, of course, that I’m doing anything in there. No siree, walking the straight and narrow I am. Gotta run, anyhow, Peter’s got a bee in his bonnet about a new case or sommat.” Neal’s mindless chattered continued as he emptied his pockets into the security guards little backer, then stride through the line to stand before the full body scanner, hands raised above his shoulders with the ease of much practice. With a soft nod, the guards allowed Neal to exit the scanner and grab his wallet and keys. Throwing back a jaunty farewell, he began towards Peter’s office, taking measured steps to ensure he did not look too hurried. 

Through the glass walls of Peter’s office, Neal spies three figures, one on the far side of the desk, two closer to Neal. The two are standing almost to attention- backs straighter than a ruler, knees not even the slightest bit bent. Tension bleeds out of the room, slamming into him as he pulls open the door. Peter turns away from Dianne and Clinton to stare him directly in the eye.

“You’re late. Get in here. We’ve got a case, and if it’s not solved quickly, Hughes will have our heads- a friend of his lost some pretty important items apparently.”


	2. A Briefing and Runaway Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tells the team the preliminary information he has.
> 
> Peter wonders about Neal.

“Two hours ago, we received a call from a man who identified himself as Ivan Orlov, head of Russian Oligarch Radik Petrov’s personal security. He claimed that whilst living in New York for business, Petrov had installed a large safe with heavy security precautions, the contents of which were unknown to him, but presumed to be highly valuable. However, three weeks ago, Petrov returned to Russia to visit family, and left the house empty. When they returned earlier this morning, the safe was broken into and almost totally emptied. Orlov said he was ordered to call our offices and request assistance” Peter pauses slightly, then inhaled sharply. “Now, as Petrov is a dual citizen, we theoretically shouldn’t be dealing with the Russian government at all. However, he’s also an oligarch with significant investments in their infrastructure and apparently friends with senior government officials, so Diana, you will be running interference. If anyone contacts you, just yes sir them, say you’ll have to confirm with a superior, then inform me. I’ll handle it from then. You’ll also be taking photographs. Agent Jones, you’ll be recording the evidence and doing sketches- try to find out what was in that safe. Caffrey and I will be interviewing Orlov and Petrov, the eight other guards, as well as anyone else on staff. Caffrey, how many house staff would you expect?”

Neal tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. “I would expect at least two personal assistants, a chef, a housekeeping service- with his standing, it’ll be a discrete service with the same two to three recurrent housekeepers, who will have a background check and prints on file with Petrov. The safe- if he won’t describe what was lost, well...”

“What about the safe?!” Agent Berrigan interjected.

“Well, Peter caught me after I allegedly took some very expensive paintings and hid or sold them- if I’d had some, and they’d been stolen, I sure wouldn’t be reporting it to suits. So it’s probably legal- he might just not trust Orlov, his ability to keep secrets, or his loyalty.” Neal replied softly. It was true- Orlov might not be trusted with his bosses secrets, despite clearly being trusted with his life. The remnants that remained of Alex’s training, however, reared its head, forcing the thought that maybe Petrov could have already sent someone off to retrieve what was taken- and filed the report with the feds simply to not have to pay to fix his own security systems. It’d happened before anyway; it was not even particularly rare. Especially among those with the means to buy the best. 

“Fine. Consider that when we’re at the crime scene- you can read the preliminary reports while we drive over there. Grab your kits, let’s go. Be in the parking lot ready to leave in twenty. Caffrey, stay behind.” Peter gestured for his team to leave his office after they snatched up a folder apiece from his desk, then turned back to face Neal when he confirmed the glass door had shut all the way.

“Caffrey, do not -under ANY circumstances, anger Petrov. No smart remarks, sir him like a rookie, and don’t do anything suspicious. Hughes trusts me, and trusts me to watch you, but that doesn’t mean that you’re safe if anything they thought was there before turns up gone after you’ve been in the room. Radik Petrov means business, and it’s got the whole department on edge.” 

“Hey, Peter- no need to worry. Besides, only allegedly did I do anything wrong- I plead Nolo Contendere, and you chased me for three years. He’s got nothing on me. Give it a decade or so; it’ll probably be the same.” With a sarcastic wink, Neal flipped his fedora onto his head and headed out, walking slowly down to the vehicle pool. It wasn’t like he had anything to grab in the first place. 

Peter watched his charge leave uneasily. Sometimes, Caffrey seemed too young, not the twenty-three year old his papers claimed him to be. Of course, they’d only managed to trace Neal Caffrey back to when he would have turned eighteen, just five years ago. But other times, like when he asked what to expect from certain... aspects of society, Neal aged. Instead of the carefully crafted, almost angelic everybody’s-younger-chaotic-brother personality, he seemed old, tired in a way that he’d only really experienced whilst running drills with teams that had been seconded from the fucking Middle East to help the feds take down high value targets- like mafiosos or overly paranoid and armed dealers of all types. And really, where would Neal have gotten the kind of experience, to look like a marine grunt who’d finally returned the US, only to run ops for the FBI? To get the hollow eyed, glassy look he sometimes walked into the office with, when he seem just ever so disconnected from life around him- Neal’s reactions just a little bit dulled, his responses just missing their targets, his mind turning over something in the back of his brain even as he listed the usual staff and type of services an oligarch would have- experience that, officially, Neal Caffrey would never have had the opportunity to obtain? Hell, when Peter’d initially pinned him as a suspect in one of his cases, he’d almost passed him up- not believing that the skinny, still growing kid in the airport photo could really be a nineteen year old professional con man, thief and forger. The blond hair dye and plain-glass glasses had barely even been needed. Back then, even with Neals dark hair, no glasses and perpetual hat, Peter thought he’d still see the kid he’d first passed off as just another unaccompanied minor flying back home alone to Florida for the first time. 

Peter shook his head to clear it of his pensive thoughts, then grabbed his gun and badge and began the short hike to the garage. The others would be there by now, and he wouldn’t be late considering he had placed a time limit to get to the SUV on his own. Now that would be embarrassing, and he knew damn well that Caffrey would find some way to visit Elizabeth with a bottle of wine and enough funny stories to have them both laughing at Peter for weeks, if not even a full month. At least Satchmo wouldn’t side with Neal- hopefully. Satchmo has been begging at the table more recently, and Neal would bribe a man’s own dog to gain any advantage. Fucking con men, never knew to relax and take a breath without checking their shoulders every minute. Did Neal trust him? Or was Neals seemingly openness with Elizabeth and himself just an instinctual response, a twisted, doomed combination of fawn response and Stockholm syndrome, to gain as much favour as possible without annoying anyone who holds his leash. Or well, anklet radius. Peter shook himself. Neal had chosen to get mixed up in the world of white collar crime, and now he was working off his dues. Getting hooked on the adrenaline rush of the heist was no excuse for building a lifestyle around theft of highly prized valuables, just to live a comfortable life and to pay off as many people as he must have had to, for safety, silence, aid, plane tickets, disguises, paperwork, building plans, security plans technology to get in, the skills to get through firewalls and literal walls... the list went on and on. 

It didn’t matter anyway; Peter had finally walked past the SUV he had been assigned this month, and snapped his team to hop in, before swinging into the drivers seat. He’d already pored over the files, but Agents Jones and Berrigan would need review time, and Caffrey would be able to discuss the case with them as soon as they finished doing so. Another sign escaped him as he pulled out of the parking structure: when had life gotten so complicated? Three years ago? Fifteen? When he’d accepted the FBI job? When he’d finally caught Caffrey? When he willingly took Caffrey as his CI despite not knowing most of his motivations? He had a list of Caffrey’s known and suspected aliases as long as his own arm, some even more intricate than Caffrey himself. Maybe that was how he knew the truth- a carefully hidden childhood, but an adulthood that relied upon a reputation to sell works and network with other similarly engaged individuals. That would most likely result in the sort of half-there, overly cautious but fiercely outgoing and independent person Neal showed to the world.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, warning for identity issues.  
Yasha comes into play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neal is Alex  
Yasha/Yassen G. is Orlov  
Identity issues are buy one get on free rn  
This switches back and forth between names used to reference specific characters quite a lot, I’m sorry if it’s confusing

Diana passed a folder into the back seat to Jones, the open side of the files unconsciously tilted away from Neal even though he was to read it soon. Agent Jones’s eyes flitted over to Caffrey as he took the papers, but opened them flat onto the seat between them regardless.  
A small photo fell out, easily mistaken for a mugshot if it weren’t for the easy grin and knit cap covering the mans ears.

“That’s Petrov.” Diana’s voice said.

“Anything special about him?” Agent Jones began. He seemed a fair bit interested in the case, which was probably wise. All three suits would have to pick up the ability to shut up and stop asking questions in order to work with the type of people Petrov seemed to be. “Where did his money come from? Old family or new money? How does he split his time between countries? Private jet or first class?”

“He seems to be newish money, for Europe anyway. Family was involved in politics in the old country, but it looks like Petrov was born in the US. We can’t confirm, but he claims to split time almost equally in the US and Russia, with multiple vacations per year in all sorts of places- he directly mentioned the Caribbean, Italy and Spain. Although, he did specify Catalonia. He does own a jet, though- two, actually. A small hobby Cessna and a Boeing 757. The 757 was written off as a business expense, but he mostly seems to use it for vacations.”

Neal scoffed. Typical.

“We have already cleared him of guilt; he didn’t have insurance on the items, and looked very worried about the loss.” Peter insisted.

Agent Jones shot a look at the back of Peter’s head. “Any chance it was connected to his work? If I lost sensitive files when I told everyone they’d be fine, I wouldn’t exactly want to cop to it. Or let a bunch of feds know about it either- they could be damaging.”

“He’s Hughes’ friend; we can’t just accuse him of anything like that now. Besides- our focus is on the theft, not Petrov’s job. Hughes has informed me that anything related to Petrov’s business is not to be searched, confiscated, read, shared, photographed, or anything else that could compromise his security. At this point, I’m wondering how he’s got such pull with Hughes.” Peter turned around to stare into the backseat as he talked, taking his eyes off the packed streets for a second. 

“What is he, a turncoat for the CIA?” Neal joked, but with a tense undercurrent threading through his voice. The thought spiralled in his brain; not many people would be extended the same curtesy that Petrov was obviously viewed as being worthy of. Nor would the ban on documents remain. After all, the FBI was all too eager to get their hands on any sort of information it possibly could regardless of its relevancy to the actual case at hand. 

“Don’t joke about it, Caffrey.” Peters time broke no argument, and so so Neal fell silent.

—————

The mansion was certainly an opulent place to live, it’s whitewashed walls stood at least three stories tall and spread grandly over the thick green lawn. The gates and outer walls, however, did not appear as well-polished as the mansion. The outer gates were steel, oxidized and tipped with with sharp points. A tall hedge of thorns lay just behind the gates, and cameras covered every angle. The thin veneer of high society was broken, destroyed by the seemingly excessive protections for one man. 

A harsh buzz sounded quickly after Peter confirmed his credentials with a guard by the entrance, and the gates rolled open. 

Hidden beneath Neals subconscious thoughts, the shadowy specters of Malagosto and Brecon Beacons raised their faded eyes and feasted upon the protections. Sasha, Alex, Cub, Devil, Hunter’s son, whichever name given to this instinct formed in pain and tears and the prolonged fear of being found out as not-truth, not-trusted, liar, traitor, spy, assassin, fucked up, too young half-broken soldier started counting men, starting clocking the hidden weapons, fighting styles and radios. 

After all, the skill is to hurry up and wait, and if you walk into a situation without at least some plan of how to incapacitate everyone and get out, you’re already dead. 

Malagosto tolerated neither fools nor failures.

Nor did six.

Even whilst mentally stacking odds of Petrov’s security suddenly staging an ambush, Neal maintained an only half-fake smirk on his lips. It wasn’t like the team was terrible to be around; the only reminders of his place as a CI aside from the ankle monitor were often harsh retorts not fully thought through, but which left the faintest impressions of regret in their eyes. However, they would not apologize. They did not want to appear as if they had lowered themselves before a simple CI, especially in front of other agents. That would be bad for their reputations and careers. 

Peter parked the car behind the house, ignoring the area near the front door despite the easier access. Petrov was likely to view them as the help instead of agents, and the team was not eager to unnecessarily anger a close friend of Hughes.

The door to the mansion opened almost as soon as Peter had knocked on it, moving with the swift grace of a well balanced expensive door. 

A man stepped into view as the door swang open, clothed in a plain black suit that echoed what Peter and Clinton wore.

Alex stutter-stepped, his eyes sweeping down the front of suited man, eyes halting over his reddish blond hair, dusted with the faintest hint of grey. His eyes were a steel blue, and all the life in the mans eyes seemed to extinguish as Alex examined him. 

However, despite all of the mans innocuous features, Alex could not tear his eyes away from the scar that ran across the man’s neck. It was ruler straight- almost surgically precise if it were not for the lack of stitching scars. 

Alex forced himself to step forward, almost brushing past Peter in his falsely relaxed frenzy. “Hello, my name is Neal Caffrey, FBI Criminal Consultant. It’s a pleasure to aid the theft investigation.”

Yassen Gregorovich met his eyes, acknowledging him with a jerky nod that would appear as graceful as a prima ballerina to everyone except a graduate of Malagosto, refusing to allow the panic squashed by his need for emotional control to affect him. “A pleasure. I am Mr. Orlov, Mr. Petrov’s head of security. Please, follow me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another cliff hanger... enjoy. 
> 
> As I said, identity issues are two for one
> 
> Also like, two sentences about an identity being set up to escape an intelligence agency and said agency lying to them but like. It’s not totally gone into yet? 
> 
> That’s later, I’m a semi professional procrastinator.

As they were led through the halls, Neals brain was locked in turmoil, unable to process the most recent development; he knew Intelligence was famous for having “dead” assets rejoin the living when it was most advantageous for them, but could not conceive of how six would have simply lost the best assassin in the world after they had basically been handed him whilst Yassen was totally defenseless. 

Lied to Alex, yes, six would have, without a doubt.

But to lose or simply thrown away a valuable asset? A valuable, near irreplaceable asset like Yassen-bloody-Gregorovich without at least alerting enough of their agents in the field that Alex would have heard of it? No. Why would they place the employees they were *legally* responsible for in so much danger?

Not to mention the fact that the same Yassen, who Alex had last seen bleeding out on Air Force Fucking One, was now standing in front of him as if the bullets had never ripped his stomach to shreds, never spilt enough blood to coat Alex from his chest to his ankles, never coloured Alex’s hand’s redder than the blood of any of Alex’s victims had managed to, ever. As if their whole messy history was faker than the names they used when legends had been burned and covers discarded in train station trash bins. As if the facades they wore over their hearts were their truths.

Neal took a deep breath, and then let it out. He then took another, and another. He had to shut up his brain, needed his thoughts to form into ice like he’d been taught so many years before. To react as Alex in a context where he had to maintain being Neal would be deadly- to himself, his cover, and possibly whoever triggered his self-defense reflex first. 

By the time they had been led to the next hardwood, reinforced doors, Alex had full control over himself again, yet wore the Neal mask stretched thin over his nerves in a final attempt to maintain cover, to not betray any of the people in the hallway who he’d never even sworn loyalty to in the first place. Neal was safer, after all. Neal had been born in the moments in between missions, when the need for food and adrenaline had been pounding into his skin in a way he’d never been taught to handle. Neal had been an escape, an attempt to finally free himself from Six before they trapped him completely. Neal had been both hidden and successful, had been the identity he’d finally flown around the world on, flown six’s coop. Neal had never killed, never hunted a man down, never peered though a scope or aimed instinctively and pulled the trigger. Neal was all of his skill with less of his risk, less of his pain and guilt. And finally, when Alex had received a passport for Neal that no one could differentiate from a real one, Alex had pushed his past to the side and donned the Neal identity as his identity, had stitched Neal’s history and likes into his skin so fast that Alex, once comfortable with a simple rum in coke or ribena, almost recoiled at the thought now. After all, Neal had high tastes- he preferred expensive wines payed for by rich men with lax security systems.

Mr. Orlov- Yassen- knocked thrice, solidly, on the door, and then pushed it open. He held the door open so the team could enter, and then let the door swing shit as he walked around the four of them to stand at Petrov’s right hand. 

“Mr. Petrov, I am Special Agent In Charge Peter Burke, these are Special Agents Barrigan and Jones. And this,” Peter gestures to Neal, “is our CI Neal Caffrey.”

Petrov nodded to the agents, then shifted his gaze to glare at Neal. 

Neal raised an eyebrow.

Petrov’s eyes flashed, and his jaw tightened. “ I trust,” he began, “that our conversations are privileged and will not be disclosed to outside parties.”

The agents blinked rapidly, as if unable to process that a man might dare protest over whomever the FBI would allow access to a case. But then, Peter spoke up, “Of course, my apologies. Mr. Caffrey has proven to be indispensable in theft cases before; however, if his presence makes you uncomfortable, we could have him wait for us in the foyer?”

Mr. Petrov seemed to ponder the offer for a moment, then minutely turned his head. “I could call one of my security to watch over him, as he does need to have free roam of my home.”

“I’m right here.” Neal muttered below his breath, but it was not as if anyone was listening to him at the moment.

“There is no need, sir,” Yassen stalked forward, and rested his hand gently on Neal’s shoulder. “I will accompany Caffrey and ensure he does not get into anything he shouldn’t.”

The door shut with a quiet click, and Alex shrugged Yassen’s hand off of him. “Yash-“

“Quiet.”

Yassen- Orlov, Alex supposed. No need to differentiate the two names if the owner of both was not even going to bother denying it. Yassen has changed slightly. He seemed no less lethal, no less dancer-like than he had first appeared to a fourteen-year old Alex, but his eyes were more present- no longer the acute disassociation that had been necessary for him to continue his career. Perhaps, he really had moved onto simple security. It would be best- age would be hitting him hard soon, limiting his eyesight, endurance and reflexes.

Yassen pulled Neal through a another doorway, then shut the door silently yet firmly.

Yassen turned to Neal.

“Hello, little Alex.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this, then took out the last third because that was getting into Ch6 territory.
> 
> More identity issues!
> 
> References to depression, death and possible suicidal impulses? Sort of? Like, slacking off in a dangerous line of work and not worrying about dying, that sort. 
> 
> Names are still confusing!
> 
> Also, yes I do love me a cliffhanger. Sorry???  
(Not really sorry )

Alex quickly cases the room he’d been led to, then half turned to shoot a sardonic look at Yasha. “Isn’t there a joke about two dead men walking into a bar together?”

“We’re in America, little Alex. That would be illegal for you. Also, it’s a kitchen.”

“Well, Neal is twenty-three. I’d be fine, and it’s not like anyone’s ever really tried to restrict me to things ‘suited’ to my age.” Alex rebuked, then wandered over to the counter, calm as could be. He filled an electric kettle with water, then turned it on. “So, where do you keep the tea?”

“Ignoring the subject has never worked well for you, little one. The tea is in the counter above your head, the cups one cabinet over.” Yassen replied, eyeing Alex with the faintest appearance of concern. “Why do you permit them to control you so? It is not as if they could contain you if you truly wished to escape.”

Neal clenched his jaw. “Maybe I got tired of running, ever think about that?”

“You never should have involved yourself in this side of the world.”

“I never had a goddamn choice, Yassen. Not once. And you have the gall, the sheer utter gall, to tell me I should have gotten out? I tried. Time and time again. I told them no, I ended up on a worse mission. I let my conditioning slip, I ended up in Brecon Beacons. I’m Neal now because at least if I’m going to be messing around with murderers and thieves, they’ll pay me a pretty little sum to make or obtain pretty little toys for them to play with. And guess what? I’ve had less attempts on my life, less time running and bleeding out while I was on the actual run than working for six. I’m not normal, you left a mostly trained but partially innocent kid behind to the tender care of six doomed me, Yassen, it doomed me. I never had a single chance against them. So I ran. And you know what? This is my safety now. Spooks can’t cage you if their accountants already have.” Neal tried his best to restrain his rage, but couldn’t get over it fully- Yassen, lecturing Alex about his problems when he was at the root of it? Priceless.

“I didn’t have a choice either, little Alex. I was born Yasha, but sold to SCORPIA as Yassen.” Yasha blinked slowly and sadly. “You know this. But you still should have lain low. Or evaded. You could have escaped all the agents, all of them. You were never trained to do anything but.”

“I was tired, Cossack. I was done.”

“Little one-“

“No, Yassen. It’s true. I never had anyone to centre me after I left, never. I let Tom, Sab, the Unit-they all think I’m dead. It’s safer that way.” Alex turned as the kettled clicked to announce the water had boiled.

“Maybe you should have allowed them to decide to be involved in your life or not-instead of cutting them off so quickly. They loved you, little alex. Tom wouldn’t have turned on you easily.” Yassen looked more concerned, somehow.

“Oh? Strong words from a fellow dead man.” Alex huffed. “Tell me again how you escaped six’s hospitality?”

“By wearing a bullet proof vest, and leaving enough blood to be declared dead without a body.” Yasha responded seriously.

“Whatever. Milk, no sugar? I used the English breakfast blend, I don’t trust earl grey.” 

“So long as it is not microwaved, I am fine.” 

Alex shot a glance at Yasha, then another. Was he making a joke? 

Alex poured the milk in regardless, then passed one cup over Yasha as he went to take a seat. He even kept one leg under the table, as if attempting to abide by manners his mother should have drilled into his head, but never had the chance.

Yasha nodded in thabks, then began to speak. “So, how are you? Eating well? Sleeping? Keeping in practice? Haven’t pissed off anyone you can’t deal with?”

Neal was almost astounded by Yassens seemingly genuine interest in his life, before reminding himself that they were basically half-brothers, who both considered themselves the child of Hunter, both parentless and alone. Both used by those in power, before they managed to steal back some small amounts of independence. Perhaps they were not so different from one another. Perhaps Yassen was who Alex would have become, before creating Neal to hide himself from the world. Perhaps, now they were all the other had. The only two who could comprehend their upbringings, and say ‘I know’ without being patronizing.

The thought terrified Alex. 

Grotesquely, it also comforted him.

He wasn’t alone.

He was the godson of the man who killed his father, his father who had created the deadly assassin who killed his uncle. The assassin whom Alex now felt he might regard as kin.

The assassin a young, foolish version of himself had once pledged to kill.

But now, both were legally dead. There was no more paperwork to file for it, no Ts to cross, no Is to dot. It simply was, and maybe now, not free of their pasts but not irreparably divided by it either, they could form a family. A little fucked up, a lot confusing, but it wasn’t like it didn’t make some sort of terrible, universe-sized joke sense.

Alex smiled, a real smile- no hidden threat, no icey promise of revenge or shadowy motives hidden in it. “It’s been okay. Sleep is always troublesome, but I’ve been getting enough food and watching out for myself. Gun ranges are a little more hard to access, being on a leash and all, but it’s not too bad. Every so often Peter takes me to the range in the Hoover building and allows me to have a bit of fun, keep me on my toes. He doesn’t insist on checking my scores, either, and I’m careful to take them with me. It’s almost nice. You?”

“Work is steady, as it always is. I’m head of security for another rich guy, as you’ve seen. It’s simple and boring. The range here is good, it has moving targets. Petrov wishes for me to train the guards to shoot as we do, but I refuse. They won’t learn it well enough to justify it anyway. They are too old and set by their ways.” Yasha rolled his eyes in an almost innocuous fashion, loaded with disdain over the hired guns he’d been placed in charge of. 

“What, are they former spetsnaz instead of top of the line SCORPIA trained soldiers? Beggars aren’t choosers, Cossack. SCORPIA combat teams come with a high cost.” Alex eyed Yasha again. Was he reminiscing his old days of having his own hand picked and trained squads at his disposal instead of someone else’s? Most likely.

“If I had to trust them with my life I would be with the forefathers before the fight even began.” Yasha replies morosely. “Besides, they are glorified mercenaries. I would prefer you, when you were fourteen over them. Useless, the lot. Only good for cannon fodder.”

“Two more years, then I’m done with the suits.” 

“Hmph. That is an excuse- you are simply delaying the time until you must leave them. Sacha, you could have been gone the second they let you out of their sight with that anklet, yet you still play with them. Why?”

Alex turned away, still seated, and slammed the rapidly cooling cup of tea onto the table. Tea splashed over the rim of the cup, the light brown liquid pooling on the dark wooden surface of the table.

“Sacha. Please. You had people, you still do. Me, Tom, Sabina, Mozzie- any of us would have cared for you. Any of us. Why disappear? Why?”

Alex lowered his gaze, then shifted once more to face Yasha. “I needed to sit down. I needed to just stop for a while. Yasha, I couldn’t keep up anymore. The names, the sudden moves, the control I had to maintain, I just couldn’t. I was getting sloppy, rushed. I knew that. I just couldn’t stop being so damned lackadaisical. So I started leaving hints, clues that I knew Agent Burke could figure out. And he did. I couldn’t just walk into a cop shop and confess. I had to be convincingly caught. When he did finally catch up with me, I didn’t even really try to run. I let him catch me, and then I suggested the deal. Some freedom for my help. It’s worked, so far. I have a list of things to do, I complete the list. I pull at the collar just hard enough to remind them who I am, but other than that, I’m fine. I’m less reckless and less dangerous to myself. It’s- it’s reliable, Yasha. It’s safe. I- I don’t- I’m not sure what I’ll do when they give my my commutation. Maybe I’ll see if they give me a paid consultant job, walk the straight and narrow, who knows?” Alex let out a harsh, hysterical laughter before cutting it short with a gulp of tea. “I was going to die, I just didn’t know how. Myself? A former client? An accident? I always thought an actual car crash would be ironic. I couldn’t leave that on the others, you know that. Tom joined the SAS, did you know? Right out of secondary. When I’m feeling maudlin, I wonder if he’s one of the ones assigned to hunt me down. Probably not. He’s too close. Too trusting. He’d never be able to bring me in. Sab, I don’t know. Haven’t talked to her since I ran. Mozzie- Mozzie takes it all too personally. He views me as one of his, just another kid he’s been left in charge of. My death would’ve destroyed him. My arrest, though? That just gave him more anger to use to survive in our world. I needed the adrenaline of the hunt, but I was loosing myself.”

Yasha’s shoulders dropped in resignation. “You either bleed on your friends or you bleed out. You’re-“ the creak of the hinges rang out, and both men jumped up, ready to attack whomever was behind the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Bet Occurs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicidal urges are discussed, a bet is made, and truthful lies are spoken.
> 
> Still identity issues, that never ends

Peter, Petrov, Jones and Barrigan were all lit up by the kitchen lights, half hidden in the badly lit hallways of the servants quarters.

“What was THAT about?!?!” Petrov’s half yell echoed throughout the room.

“Neal- who is this man to you?” Peters voice was softer, but no less imposing for it. 

“Peter, meet my highly annoying and overly parental ex-roommate.” Alex quickly reverted to Neal’s cover. “I haven’t seen him since I was sixteen. Asshole left for work and left me alone.”

“You should have been fine, you could have come to me if you needed it!” Yassen continued the charade.

“Yes, because it was so bloody obvious that you were available when you up and disappeared for work. I was left alone in the apartment, and you didn’t come back. Two whole months! Then the landlord came, thought you were illegally subletting it to me, and kicked me out! Wouldn’t hear a word about me being your roommate, no of course he wouldn’t.” Neal clenched his fists, and forced anger to flare in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Neal. But you know that there are some people who you cannot refuse or ignore when summoned, and that is what occurred.” Yasha- Vanya, now, Neal supposed- continued. “I know I should have set it up better- told Mr. Bianchi that my brother had come to house sit whilst I was away, left a credit card or something for you- but that took time I did not have. And I’m sorry for it.”

“Wait, so you knew Caffrey before he was a forger? Before we could even track him down?” Agent Jones interjected. 

“I knew him, yes, but as Sacha. Full offense, Neal, the way you stuttered and mumbled made it highly obvious it was fake. So I told him to call me Yasha. If he wasn’t going to give me his real name, I wouldn’t give mine.” Ivan Orlov shrugged as if it were the most obvious sense of logic in the world.

Agent Barrigan spoke next. “But, uh, why was he living with you at what, fifteen, sixteen? What about his family?”

“You could just ask.” Neal commented snidely.

Nobody listened to him.

“Family? I found him on the streets, took him home when he cussed me out for looking at him for too long. He was just a kid, he didn’t belong on the streets. No one does. So I took him in, made him take the GED, taught him to defend himself- I was planning on having him take college classes or go to a trade school when I was recalled and he disappeared. He only stayed for little more than a year.”

“Neal,” Peter began softly. “What happened before you ended up with Mr. Orlov? Is he what you consider family now?”

“I plead the fifth.” Neal answered dryly, giving the surrounding agents a scathing look. As if he would give up all his secrets (regardless of if it were true only for Neal, not Alex, created for his cover) for a simple question. Ha!

Vanya huffed just for show. “As if he’d answer a question asked that directly. Might as well throw him in interrogation for all the answers he’ll give you.”

“Hey, are you calling me paranoid?” Neal snapped.

“No, just street smart and jaded.”

“Oh, that’s such a drastic improvement.” Neal’s sarcastic tone lightened the mood in the room, and Neal could almost swear he saw Clinton roll his eyes. Only just slightly, though. Just enough to take the team the slightest bit off guard against him. 

Petrov, however, was not so relieved by the sudden sarcastic turn of the two seated tea drinkers. It probably had something to do with the fact that one of them was meant to be his head of security, and the other a renowned thief. Welp. 

“Orlov- you knew Caffrey? A con man? Did you teach him his skills, or did he learn them himself? Why did you not inform me of this potential conflict of interests when I hired you?” Luckily, Petrov seemed more interested in how he could profit from this sudden development than anger.

“I had not seen him in many years- the name Caffrey meant nothing to me, as he went by Sasha with me. I believe he was Markus to the man he shared a flop with. It’s the same in reverse, too. I only permitted him to call me Yasha.” Orlov shrugged softly. “He took well to basic training, and didn’t try to take money or any of my possessions.” Orlov raised his gaze to stare Petrov directly in his eyes. “Sir, I did not consider him a conflict of interest; besides, he is currently a CI for the FBI, and therefore is not permitted outside a certain radius without his handler. It is not as if he could suddenly come and raid the premises without being immediately contained by Agent Burke or another team.”

Peter shifted his weight. “But that’s not all of it, is it? You said it yourself, he could be gone in minutes even with the ankle monitor, so long as he planned a get away and had sufficient time to escape before we would be able to respond. You even added that people named Tom and Sabina would help him- we are already aware of Mozzie. Who’re Tom and Sabina though? How did one of Neal’s friends end up in the SAS anyhow? That’s British special forces, not American. And there’s no way he let himself be caught! It took years for us to catch him.”

“Since you obviously heard the last of our conversation, you should know that he felt as if he was slipping and needed a place to stay for a bit that would not result in his untimely death. And it’s true, you know it too. Tom was an exchange student he met at a therapy group I forced him to attend for kids with family troubles. Sabina was the daughter of Tom’s host family, not that his friends from when he was a child should be any of your concern, Agent Burke.”

“Well, we were barely able to establish that Caffrey was a real identity instead of just a fake ID, so any proof of Neal existing previous to his eighteenth birthday is my business, Mr. Petrov.” 

Privately, Alex thought that maybe Yasha had misstepped just little, as Neal’s ability to hide his past had been a particular annoyance for the federal agents as they’d had to prove that Neal was not just another identity that anyone could have used once to commit fraud before returning it to its unknowing owner. 

Orlov could deal with the pressure, though, so it wasn’t particularly necessary for him to intervene yet. Besides, by the time he’d tell Moz tonight, Yassen would have already created enough evidence to prove that Alex had lived with him as Sacha beyond the slightest sliver of doubt.

Except Peter, Peter would stay suspicious out of sheer habit but accept it regardless. He’d done it a few other times when the need for Alex’s skill had broken through the Neal facade, so it shouldn’t take too much for Peter to subconsciously ignore it. 

“Well, it is as I said.” Yassen’s eyes froze over. Clearly, he wasn’t feeling like playing around.

“Perhaps you would consider coming up to our offices to clarify Neal’s standard of life before we encountered him?” Dammit. Peter wasn’t going to let it go. Asshole. Maybe he was a little too invested in Neal. Professional pride, perhaps?

“No.”

“Well, we will need standard statements, signed and dated from all of you. If you came with us, we could get it all done quickly?” At least Agent Jones was trying to get the case over with semi-cordially. 

“Or your team could interview us here, so that we do not leave the house unguarded again, as security was clearly circumvented.” At this, Petrov shot a look at Yassen, seemingly in order to remind him exactly who Petrov blamed for the break-in. 

Yassen spoke up, but kept his gaze aimed respectfully at Mr. Petrov instead of pointedly addressing Agent Burke. “Sir, we could take a four person team in addition to myself, split into two cars. After we gave our statements, you could return here in one car whilst I go in the other direction and then wait at Caffrey’s apartment until you have safety returned before I complete the drive.”

“You just want to be able to spend time with your wayward ex-ward.” Petrov rebuked.

“He is more of a much younger brother, however, I have not denied that. I have not seen him in years and wish to reconnect. May I take my unused leave to visit him?” Yassen’s facial expressions made clear that he was not awaiting Petrov’s permission to visit Alex, yet was willing to make a show of complying with Petrov’s rules in order to remain in good standing.

“It would make it much easier, Mr. Petrov.” Peter’s voice was deep and suddenly reassuring as he continued. “Of course, we could conduct the interviews here if it were too much of a strain to your security.”

The bold yet restrained backhanded insult made Petrov tense up, and Yassen shifted in response to his protectees’ anger at the implied inability to afford halfway-decent protection. 

Alex spoke up, eager to protect Yassen from any fallout he could suffer due to Alex’s inability to create his own cover under pressure. “Sir, if you came to visit, you could view a sparring session between Mr. Orlov, your security team, and myself. If it so pleased you, we could also explain our techniques and practice them with you?”

“Sparring?” At this, Peter butted back into the conversation. “Caffrey, you’re on an ankle moniter and haven’t, to the best of my knowledge, visited a dojo or other place to practice sparring. You’ll get hurt!”

Behind his emotionless mask, Alex smiled. Now he had something that Peter seemed to care about to make a deal with him. There would be no way that he’d lose the deal. That would not be an option. Especially not at the stakes he was going to offer. 

“How about this.” Despite Alex’s soft voice and restrained demeanor, his voice overrode all others in the room. “Agent Burke, Barrigan and Jones all against me. Three on one, in the Hoover building tomorrow. I win, you don’t hunt down Vanya or any of my other old friends for information on me, Mr. Petrov gives his statement in the building, and Vanya and I get to spar and use the training facilities as we wish. You win, and I answer your questions, all of them, truthfully. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, all that jazz.”

“Sasha-“

“Deal.” Peters voice cut off Yassen, just as another voice echoed his.

“If Caffrey wins the bout, I will abide by his terms.” Petrov’s decision finalised the deal. 

“Good. We’ll leave and you can meet us at the federal building tomorrow.” Peter turned around, motioning for the team to follow him out the door.

“Do not lose, little one.” Yasha’s final warning, whispered under his breath as Neal passed in front of him followed Neal all the way back, still reverberating in his mind even as he lay down to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The names switched so quickly, I confused myself once or twice.
> 
> More moral questioning of shadowy government practices regarding ya know... Alex and that whole blackmail situation? (AKA Child abuse known, performed and condoned by Blunt n Co.)
> 
> Whoo boy... angst regarding Alex’s training by Uncle Ian to be a mini-agent.
> 
> Yes, if your family was involved in work like the Riders were canonically you should train ya kids to survive.... but like, maybe prep an exit strategy for them? Don’t, I’m not sure, leave their guardianship to your morally grey at best employer? 
> 
> Philosophical thoughts about leaving members of found families who were lead to think you died.
> 
> A bit of paranoia regarding snipers, only briefly regarded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be a short one, sorry.... it’s also a bit of a filler.
> 
> Also whoooooooo I switched the names a lot... yay
> 
> Happy Halloween!
> 
> Blessed Samhain!
> 
> ¡Feliz Dia de los Muertos!

Alex groaned as his alarm clock rang, shaking his head at the bright sun that came through his large windows. Why did the sun have to rise so early? He just wanted to sleep, dammit. 

As he rolled out of bed and mechanically dressed himself in his most worn out suit, Alex considered how the day would most likely play out. Neal would beat the suits, Yassen would attempt to teach Petrov something and cuss at his under his breath, and then try to avoid all forms of questioning by the feds. 

Alex tried not to consider why he was even dressing in his oldest suit, with threads unraveled get from the hems and marks clearly indicating where the sun had lain upon it unimpeded for a long time. Today, Peter would truly see him fight, would experience the danger that he had brushed up against whilst chasing Neal. Peter, although almost untrained by his standards with only basic combat lessons and shooting proficiency learned, would not be able to mistake the way he fought, nor the moves that could come a little too close to emulating combat while on mission instead of a semi friendly spar. 

If he did manage to disregard it, Neal would almost feel obligated to ask Mozzie to place a memo in the FBI database to send Peter off for remedial training.

Paranoia saved lives. Lapses cost them.

Descending the flight of stairs by his room, he waited, tucked behind the wall next to the windows ever so carefully that he was not visible to the street or the apartment windows that were facing his direction. He quickly scanned the visible windows and rooftops, but saw nothing unusual. A few workmen were on the roof of a building across from him, but they were cautiously poking an AC unit on the roof, so he disregarded them. Their backs faced him, anyway. He could be out of their line of sight before they’d have time to turn around. 

So Alex visually scanned the street again.

Nothing. 

Sometimes Alex wondered if the world fucked with him. Yeah, sure, give him a perfectly normal couple of years, then reintroduce the bloody assassin who’d killed his uncle. Just peachy. It wasn’t as if he’d spent a large portion of his life avoiding trouble, only messing with others when he had to. But the world didn't care about that now, did it? Only about how to continually spin the cycle of pain, death, and temporary numbness he’d been stuck in since he was fourteen. Look at him! Even after three liters of blood left in a cell he knew MI6 had raided, even after Alex Riders file was relabeled KIA instead of MIA, still his past came to rip to shreds all the progress he had made. He wanted to rant and rave, to scream his pain at his life to the entirety of the world. He wanted to be a thirteen year old child again, with some more than questionable skills and a still childlike, innocent mentality. Alex knew that life had never been fair, but sometimes he just wanted the world to fucking know about precisely how unfair it had been. Was a Life Restart button no longer an option? Occasionally, he regretted being an atheist. At least with reincarnation or heaven, he’d have some form of enjoyment after this life was over. 

Perhaps being Neal was his purgatory, was his chance to get it all right. If he couldn’t have a real rebirth, maybe this rebirth of his identity was the closest he’d been. Alex hadn’t been to church since his uncle gave up on forcing him to attend after failing to appear identical to everyone else in the Chelsea suburb he’d been raised in, but the mentality still butted in every so often. Tulip had told him he was doing well, Blunt had merely nodded before assigning him to another mission, the Unit had been disapproving and overconfident before being forced to work with him multiple times, and Tom and Sabina were too close to tell him the truth, had any of his work as a child even been overly important? After all, if he’d chosen the orphanage, chosen to lose Jack, surely they would have just sent other agents? Willing agents? Agents with life insurance, ransom policies, signed OSAs, jobs that understood when you couldn’t be in class when you were busy getting kidnapped/surprise adopted by a random ex-soviet general? Every single time it was presented as just a short job- was that just the heads being duplicitous or him digging too deep, Alex being incapable of letting a sleeping dog lie? It wasn’t like the world had ended in the five years he’d been enjoying some semblance of freedom, regardless of the fact that some of that time had been spent behind bars. It wasn’t as if it were a lie to say that the most dangerous American prison was probably safer for him than running the missions Blunt had assigned him. Fucking Blunt. Had he even expected Alex or return alive from his first mission? Or was he simply sent in order to hide another agent trying to slip into the mission? Alex had originally been raised a child spy, then retrained by the SAS as a soldier and by SCORPIA as an assassin, his young looks all the better to evade detection. Had he ever even been given the opportunity to live out his life as a civilian? Would either agency, SCORPIA or MI6 have permitted that? He was, after all, just a complicated loose end for the both of them, proof of failure and success and betrayal and loss. A child, too well guarded to simply disappear but also too well hidden to risk him being revealed if they’d decided to move him elsewhere to safety, to seek protection in the shadows of fake names and almost true back stories. He had been a bloody child and all Blunt and Jones had seen whilst looking at him was another asset to be used until it broke.

Alex shook his head, dismissing his maudlin thoughts. He couldn’t risk being distracted, not today. Neal’s personality slipped over his face and thoughts, and Alex’s paranoia fell into background noise, just loud enough to burst though if danger suddenly appeared. He inevitably would have to today- combat training with Yassen would push Alex to the front of his mind, even if sparring with the team did not.

Neal slipped out of the apartment, carefully avoiding June. As he darted into the street, if his movements were a little more careful and sudden than previously, there was no one observant enough to notice. His bag, carefully packed with another suit, phone and portable charger, barely made an impression on the people surrounding him as he stalked past, despite the enormous change to his routine that it represented. 

This day, there were no kind words directed at the security staff. Neal and Alex’s mind was too tumultuous to pretend. The guards, sensing this, scanned him as silently and efficiently as possible before nodding for him to move on. Neal practically jogged to the gym area, his pace unconsciously falling into a trademark predatory stalk as he went. 

Despite his haste to arrive early in the morning, the team, Petrov, Yassen, and four other of Petrovs’ hired guns were in the gym, running through a few stretches and exchanging small talk as they did so.

Yassen, however, was not amongst the group; he was leaning against the wall, watching over the proceedings with all the apparent interest as a hawk watching ants scurry about. Despite his apparent calm, Alex could spot the tell tale set of his shoulders, gently twisting the fabric of his suit, that screamed of the tension. 

Alex headed over, leaning against the same wall. Yassens eyes flicked over to scan him, before returning to the spectacle the others made in the FBI gym. Other agents, arriving for their early morning workout, had now spotted the unfamiliar men and were failing to hide their unsubtle side eyes.

At least in Malagosto those spying upon Alex had had enough tact to be slick about it!

“Do not lose.” 

The words, spoken under the breath of Yassen, made Alex flinch a little. He knew he had been reckless with his promise of truth if defeated. but he did not expect to lose. Besides, he would have to stick to the tale he’d been creating to be real since he was just fifteen. 

FBI agents would not be willing to believe that the same government that they’d sworn allegiance to would use a child spy, especially not when the accusation came from a convicted thief and forger. 

It did not matter. Alex would not lose. It was not an option.

Losing hadn’t been an option since his uncle had framed his training as simple games, and even then some, such as his pickpocketing practices, parkour adventures, training to use an alias created off the top of his head, would have placed them both in a very precarious place if he’d messed up. But he hadn’t, and that was why he was now Neal.

But- it would be so much simpler if the team knew. Byrne wouldn’t give him up to the Brits, surely. He might make him run some missions in exchange for his silence, but Byrne had truly mourned when he heard the rumor of Alex’s death. So had the Unit. Alex may or may not have surveilled them for a little while after Six had officially and unofficially closed his death investigations.

Clean breaks were hard, even for nameless ones who had foolishly thought they had nothing left to lose. Even a kind semi stranger was more than he’d had on the run. 

He hadn't been able to watch Tom, though. Soon after the news of his death had been confirmed, Tom had upped and moved to Italy to be with Jerry and finished his schooling online. Alex had almost been grateful. If there was one person he’d have returned to Six’s control if they’d asked, Tom would have been it. Tom was the kind of person who once you loved them, they grew into you even as you changed who you were every week. You kept expecting his unique humor, his cutting remarks and occasionally pyromania to make an appearance, even when it was as simple as picking up an avocado at a grocers and remembering the time he’d accidentally referred to lawyers as avocados, and then never stopped the joke. 

But even as Alex’s eyes misted up with thoughts of the distant past, Neal was careful to respond. “You know I shan’t. If I do, check me for poisons, because I’ve been compromised.”

“Of course.” Yasha replied, just before Peter called out to Alex after finally realizing that he’d been present for some time.

“Neal, we’re ready. Come on!”

Alex stalked forth, his Neal-persona being disregarded with every step he took. The three closed around him in a circle, and Alex met the eyes of Peter with a snarky grin. “Would you like to tap out now?”


	8. When You Accidentally Beat Up Four Despite Legally Being a Non-combatant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sparring Scenes
> 
> Damn, writing fights are hard!
> 
> Anywho, I tried to keep the sparring accurate. The move used to take one character down in the second match is real and I’m fond of it because most just don’t expect it. And it’s very basic.
> 
> Sorry for the delay in writing.
> 
> I’ve been considering starting another fanfic in addition to this, I was considering Harry Potter time travel or maybe a Criminal Minds/Alex rider crossover, not yet sure. Not even sure I could write more than one fanfic at a time.
> 
> Tell me if extra trigger warnings are needed! I’m happy to add them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers today:  
Usual identity troubles.  
(I’m starting to think that might be me lmao)  
Blood mention  
Two fight scenes connecting to each other, but they’re sparring.  
The blood is in the second sparring scene.   
Mild verbal put downs between Yassen, Alex and Petrov  
One Russian joke  
Give me a comment or something if another trigger needs to be mentioned.

Alex quickly dropped his center of gravity, then snapped his arm out to counter a testing punch by Diana. A faint scuffing noise alerted him to movement to his right, and Alex jerked his shoulder to the side, before throwing his weight behind a punch to Clint’s solar plexus. A choking sound followed as Clint tried to regain his breath, and he stumbled backwards, out of the fight until he’d recovered. Alex didn’t have time to process this, however, as he’d already shifted to keep the wall to his back now he only faced two active threats. A simple block deflected the next blow from Diana, and Alex shook his head, uncertain as to why Peter hadn’t yet thrown a blow. A roundhouse kick came next, but just as Alex was about to catch it, he moved out of reflex. A faint brush of wind against his midriff revealed to Alex what he’d already known- Peter was now active in the fight. 

He’d waited until Alex was about to mentally write him off as a non-combatant, the sneaky bastard. Alex didn’t even think he’d had the ounce of deception to do so, but what shouldn’t you expect with a bloody accountant?

Responding with an overpowered front kick at Diana that knocked her off her feet, Alex quickly combined the front step with a turn into a spinning roundhouse that made a wet sounding thud as it made contact with Peters’ sternum, before finishing him off with an unnecessary but reflexive punch to the rib cage. 

Peter went down like a sack of potatoes, gasping for air just as Clint had done so few seconds before.

Clint. Alex shook his head; the fight might not be over- he had not seen any blood or tap out signal. Eyes darting side to side, however, revealed Peter and Diana with their hands over their heads, trying and failing to breathe.

“That’s it, Caffrey, that’s it.” Clinton had finally regained control over his lungs, but kept his hands in the air. “Let’s just… it’s over. I barely had time to react before you took me out, we didn’t have” Clinton forced air back into his lungs, he’d started talking too soon. “You win. Fuck, man. Where’d you learn…. where’d you learn that?”

“Well,” Alex tried to hide the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “Since I won, I don’t have to say. Me and Orlov are up next, though.”

“I think you might wish to give them a minute or ten before we spar, little one… Agent Burke looks like he needs a medic. Did you by any chance have any damage to your ribs before this?” The sentence, directed at Peter, was denied with a tired wave of a hand. 

Peters’ face was a surprisingly bright shade of red, though….

“Yeah.., didn’t mean that last punch, didn’t realize you were already going down….” Alex’s voice trailed off as he saw Petrov and his guards shifting. Dammit, he was NOT losing his chance to talk to Yassen without any nosy idiots listening at doors just because some man who’d never had to learn how to clock danger at five hundred metres got a little wary about a CI beating 3:1 odds. “Mr. Petrov, if you like to view the spar between Mr. Orlov and myself, you are welcome to do so. We may even provide basic demonstrations afterwards, if you be interested?”

Petrovs’ face twisted into a nearly blank mask, a scared sneer just sneaking to the surface. “Of course. The combat training for the FBI must have really gone down, for three to be beaten by just… you. I’d rather just have Ivan teach me, as he’s competent. I shall watch the spar, however… I’m sure it will be interesting.” 

“It will.” Yassens voice broke through the glares directed from Petrov to Alex. “Neal was an attentive student who did not disregard his training. He will not disappoint me.”

“Aww, I’m really feeling the love, Vanya!” Alex teased, hoping to ease the tension in the room.

It had not missed his mind that he had just beaten three federal agents in a spar… in front of a room full of federal agents.

What a way to gain unwanted attention. 

“I take it back.” Yassens’ sardonic rebuttal confirmed Alex’s suspicions that he’d realized the cause of his sudden humour. “He clearly does not remember the lessons on matters of comportment. I thought that was taught in primary school.”

“No, I think that’s counting and stuff. S’not like I’d know, I went to elementary school instead.” Alex’s pointed look reminded Yassen of his backstory. Of course, it’s not like Yasha had a normal childhood either, so they could probably just pass it off as international schooling confusions. What was a healthy and stable childhood good for either? A fulfilling adulthood with a loving family? How unattainable.

“Yes, yes, ramble on why don’t you. Are you even going to get to sparring, or just playing around like children?” Alex hadn’t realized just how annoying Petrovs’ voice sounded until he kept biting into the conversation. Had he never been told to shut up before? He acted like he hadn’t. 

“Of course, sir. Would you like to join in, Mr. Petrov? I’m sure your excellent training will ensure an easy victory over both Ivan and myself. After all, you don’t hire people better than you, do you?” Alex was poking the beehive, but watching Petrovs’ face reddening was well worth it. Maybe he’d even be able to bribe a photo from the CCTV cameras off Mozzie. But, then Moz would probably recognize Yassen and they’d both be in trouble. Moz was no snitch, but if he thought Yassen was there to hurt Neal, he’d intervene and would probably utilize the team to stop him.

“Neal.”

Yassens’ lone bark was enough to summon Alex back over to the training mats. If they were really going to make a spectacle of themselves, the least they could do was to present a united front. 

“Rules?” Alex wasn’t stupid, if they fought according to different tap out rules, one would get hurt. They’d be confused and keep attacking when they should have stood down. 

“Disabling moves only, no permanent maiming. Fight to pin or inability to continue. No points, no tap outs.” Yassen smiled grimly. . He wasn’t about to go easy on Alex. They’d have to see who kept up with training better.

Alex raised an eyebrow. So Yasha wanted to send a message with the fight? No reason not to comply, then. Perhaps it might even teach a few nosy agents about appearances being deceiving.

Eh. Probably not. They weren’t exactly undercover specialists, or even regular intelligence agents who had an inkling of comprehension of how far even the simplest of disguises could go.

“Agent Burke, call the start.” Yassen drawled. 

“Are you sure? I think we should allow tap outs…” 

“It’s fine, Peter. This is how we train.” Alexs’ faux-confident manner pressed Burke to allow it to continue, and with a grimace, Peter announced the three count to begin. 

This time, there was no mollycoddling to delay the first attack, just a sudden albeit almost expected punch thrown directly at Neal’s temple. 

Alex had already moved, ducking sideways ever so slightly as to avoid it. Yasha had used the punch as a distraction to move closer, and Alex scuttled back two steps. Alex kicked out at Yassens’ front leg, but only managed to make contact with his outer thigh. An explosion of pain along his ribs marked a hit by Yassen, but Alex lashed out quickly in response, catching Yasha across his jaw, eliciting a firm grunt. Yassen punched again, but this time Alex barely managed to block it, the hit still jolting his shoulders with the sheer power. He kicked out, this time landing the hit into Yasha’s stomach, earning a half-seconds respite. Alex’s lungs burned; it had been much too long since he had put them through such stress. 

Alex grinned. His adrenaline was rising, and now he was finally enjoying this sparring session. “Feeling your age, Vanya? I hear they have aids for that now. Unless of course, you’re so lonely the left hand doesn’t work any more.”

Yassen spit a gob of blood onto the mat, his lip split. “The only one who is desperate enough to settle for just a hand is you. Unless you’ve gone celibate?”

Alex laughed, the hysterical sound ripping through the gym, right as he twisted to avoid yet another punch. Was the great Cossack getting predictable? “Nope, I’m a red blooded American male, if you’ve forgotten. Is it anemia, maybe? Is that why you’ve slowed down? Forgot your daily gematogen?”

“Oh fuck you.” Yassens eyes narrowed. 

Alex blinked at the kick that had just missed his nose.

Really? It was the gematogen joke that pissed him off? Of all things?

Bloody ex-soviets.

“They taste like iron and sins, Vanya.” Alex grinned as he took a step closer, using another kick to disguise his forward momentum. 

“What is sin to a godless nation?” Yassen barked satirically. Honestly, at this point Yasha’s bloodstained teeth were getting a little distracting, but Alex wasn’t just going to drop the gematogen thing.

“I dunno, I thought when you have to question if something is vampiric or not is a decent metric. Just a general rule of thumb, I know you struggle with morals. And laws. And relationships. And emotions. Maybe just struggle in general?”

Alex took another step forward, and grabbed Yassen’s suit jacket, trapping one of Yassen’s arms between their bodies. Alex then extended his leg behind Yassen’s back leg, before bringing his heel down hard into Yassen’s calf, sweeping him off his feet and throwing him to the ground. Both men immediately began scrambling for any advantage, but Alex remained on top as Yassen rolled, forcing Yassen into a half Nelson, his other arm pushing Yassens arm into the ground. 

Yassen froze. Alex had just enough grip around Yassens’ neck to potentially choke him if it went any further, but they had agreed to fight to the pin. 

Yassen went slack, but Alex did not release his hold. It wouldn’t have been the first, or even tenth time either had used a false surrender to turn the tables on an attacker, but Alex was well accustomed to the trick, and did not fall prey to it.

“Tap out. You won, Neal.”

Alex rolled off of Yassen’s back, then pushed himself to his feet. A quick glance at Yasha confirmed that he didn’t need a hand, having already regained his footing. 

“So.”

“Yes, Neal.” Yassen glowered at Alex.

“The gematogen. Really? That’s your soft spot.”

“Impudent brat.” Yassen sniffed and looked off in the distance. “It tastes like my childhood.”

“I’m not even going to comment on that.”Alex’s posture stiffened at the proverbial minefield they had just wandered into, and looked over at Peter, desperate to change the subject. “So, uh, we teaching Mr. Petrov anything right now, or not?”

A shocked silence had spread among all the agents, even greater this time now that Neal had taken down Orlov. 

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls google gematogen that stuff is delicious. 
> 
> Look, mildly weird? Yes. Bloody brilliant? Also yes.
> 
> I’m not sorry about that pun.
> 
> Gematogen contain processed cows blood


	9. A Fox in the Hen Houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I added another canon character lmao, not a clue how to keep this in a decent timeline tho because ITS NOT LIKE ALEX RIDER HAS AN ACTUAL CONTINUOUS TIMELINE. But whatever. Horowitz, keep thine secrets.  
So, For the second work Alex Rider criminal minds or Harry Potter time travel? That fic would update slower though, but I would probably have some idea of graphing it out before writing it.  
The first chapter of the AR/CM fanfic is up, it’s Resurgent.  
This fic is like... throwing words at a wall and hoping it doesn’t create huge holes in the story line. I’m a chicken with my head cut off who won’t stop running in circles, somehow avoiding the cooking pot I’m circling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings:  
A character is discussed as a threat in front of trusted coworkers/friends.  
Another lives under a lie.  
The death of Ash, Alexs godfather is discussed in like two sentences.  
The new character is not told about the truth of a man he shot.  
Child abuse by a military intelligence organization is discussed but not graphically.

Yassen took a look around the room, before shooting a glance over at Petrov. “No, we won’t be. Any training we lead will be in more… private circumstances. Perhaps it would be a decent time for the interviews to be conducted?”

“Neal….” Peter began.

“Perfect idea, Yasha. Shall we go? This gym had gotten a little too crowded for my delicate sensibilities.” Alex slung an arm over Yassen’s shoulder, silently refusing to retract it despite the deadly expression staring him straight into his face.

“Wait!” Agent Jones looked a bit miffed at the sudden dismissal of the entire sparring match matter. “Are we not going to discuss that whole thing? Caffrey just took us all down, then Orlov! I did his background, isn’t he like ex-FSB? You don’t just.. Do That!”

“The bet said I win, I didn’t have to say anything. You agreed to it, and I won. Take it up with your past selves if you don’t like it, or try to negotiate a new bet. After all, do you not value your word?” Alex hoped desperately he’d back off. The bet wasn’t entirely kosher, anyway.

“Yeah, I do! And I swore to uphold the Constitution and Laws of the United States when I graduated the Academy, but you’re expecting me to just sit down and shut up after finding out that Caffrey, who’s listed as having minimal combat training at all, and isn’t meant to be a physical threat at all, casually wipes the floor with all of us! Clearly, either you lied, omitted truths, or have been taking classes whilst on parole…. all of which invalidate the deal you made with the Bureau!”

Peter’s eyes darted between the two men, and Alex realized that he wasn’t about to stop Clint from going off on his rant. Peter, after all, desperately wanted to know the answers to his many questions, but did not want to contribute to the growing scene they formed as they walked towards the changing rooms.

Diana, just about to split from the group to enter the locker rooms, broke into the conversation for a second. “Clinton has a point, Caffrey clearly isn’t who he said he was. How can we trust anything he’s ever told us about his life?”

Neal grimaced. Despite his continual planning and paranoia, he didn’t really have a comeback for that. After all, one of the charges dropped in the plea deal had been ‘making false statements’. He didn’t need anyone bringing up that spare bit of information, especially not in front of Petrov if he wanted to be able to keep in contact with Yassen whilst also allowing Yassen to continue to have good relations with his boss.

Yassen probably wouldn’t throw another op for him.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” Surprisingly, one of the guards Alex had unwittingly written off as simple muscle had spoken in his defense.

“What?” Clearly, Clinton did not appreciate the idea of living being a great accomplishment.

“You’ve run ops based on information given to you by him, with no independent confirmation, you’ve gone undercover with him in places where getting discovered would have been a death sentence. If it’s known that he’s working for you, it’d be dangerous for him to return to his previous occupation. Between spending a few years in a cushy jail cell or betraying everyone you’ve worked for or with, I know which one would better endear yourself to fencers and thieves.” Alex turned, staring at the guard’s paling face.

“And he’s still helping you, isn’t he? Caffrey has never gotten you hurt, he’s never allowed you into danger, and if you’re so worried about him betraying you, why's he always helping you? Sacha was always loyal. If you treat him well and care for him, he’ll do as you ask. If you hurt him, he’ll destroy you.” Yassen had also jumped onto the defend Alex train, but then looked away, as if he’d said too much. Which, maybe, he had.

“Is that a threat?” Peter’s voice held an undercurrent of steel, even as it seemed initially to waver. 

“No.” It was the dark haired guard again, who’s face seemed unusually familiar. “It was a reminder that you don’t throw away valuable assets, especially those that are willing to cooperate and don’t need to be continuously placated. Unless the system has changed since I retired from the military?”

Bloody hell.

“This isn’t the military,” Alex choked out. “They usually have ideas about letting a fox into the hen houses.”

Yassen looked up sharply, then followed Alex’s gaze towards the guard who had spoken. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly, although the guard had already noticed Alex’s stare.

The guard smirked and started to respond again. “Yes, otherwise they probably wouldn’t be debating if you’re a security risk, considering your track record would most likely speak for itself. It’s not like everybody can be picky on who precisely will give them information.”

“Well, there's someone who understands!” To others, Neal’s voice sounded self assured, but it was only a front. “What’s your name?”

“William Crevan. Nice to meet you, Caffrey.” Crevan nodded to him, then stepped aside to wait with Petrov and other other guards outside of the changing rooms. Yassen, however, followed the team and Alex in. 

Peter and Clint started changing, muttering about the case under their breaths to each other even as Yassen and Alex tried to hold a full conversation through raised eyebrows. It wasn’t going particularly well; a few confused looks switched faces until Alex turned to seemingly aimlessly meander down the rows of lockers, none of which were assigned to him.

Yasha stalked behind him, nearly shaking with agitation, and put out an arm to grip Alex’s shoulder as soon as they turned behind a wall of lockers. “Who was he? Sasha, who was that man? He’s on the fucking security team for Petrov, who is he? He was hand picked for the team!”

Alex snorted. “By whom? MI6? That’s Fox, Yasha. From SAS? He was seconded to six and assigned to me as my mission partner back then. Didn’t you know? He’s not that slick. Too much time in teams, he never learned how to be suspicious of anyone and everyone. Not like us.”

“So, you’re telling me” Yassen growled. “That I have a fucking spy guarding my principal?”

“Yep. Don’t worry though, he’s not after Petrov. Most likely he was sent to watch over you and make sure the CIA or FSB didn’t get any ideas about using you. Six is a little low on skilled lone black ops specialists right now, after Malagosto being shut down and everyone being a little too wary of contracting for them. You don’t find people willing to run assignations just… sending in work applications. Normally six’s recruits have got some delusion about saving the world. Idiots. Fox might even approach you with a contract if you play it nice enough.”

Yassen rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like he needed another lucrative job; he was working for Petrov as a way to introduce the Orlov character to respectable people, and to avoid suspicion whilst traveling under the passport. His care was simply over maintaining his professional pride in his success rate. 

“Oh, let the paranoia go for a second, Yasha, Fox had always prioritized me over Six. It’s probably why he’s running an undercover mission instead of getting promoted through the ranks. Defended me from the SAS unit, too.”

“He’s a loose end. A threat. Your platitudes won’t hold his tongue forever.”

“No Yasha. When Fox found out I was fourteen, he was pissed. If he’d had the ability, he would have wrapped me in blankets and rained fire upon my controllers. Now that I am dead, he won’t give a damn what they say about me. He’ll say that he didn’t recognize my face. He’ll say I just looked like a doppelgänger. After all, isn’t six always right?”

Yassen snorted. “Surely you’ve complained about the oxymoron of military intelligence before.”

“Exactly. Fox won’t give me up, and if he sees you helping me, he’ll assume it’s out of family loyalty. He’s safe. I might have even accepted his offer to help me run once if I wasn’t so sure it’d only end up with him ‘disappeared’ and me on another mission.” Alex brushed Yassen’s hand off his shoulder, where it rested in a failed attempt to provide comfort. “Just make an excuse, bring him with you when you come to visit me. I dunno, say you need to pretend to be moving Petrov alone and sending the team off as a decoy. Bullshit it. You’re good at that.”

“Sacha, he’s dangerous. To the both of us!”

“He killed Ash, when Ash was ASIS. For me.” Alex helpfully did not add that Fox was unaware of who Ash was, both as an agent and as his godfather. Fox still thought he’d just shot a mid level SCORPIA henchman.

Alex was not going to ruin his friends’ illusion. He was low on friends already.

“Now, go away. I’m changing into my spare suit, and you’re going to clean up somewhere elsewhere the team won’t think we’re planning world domination together.”

Yassen rolled his eyes, but turned away. 

Alex, being unable to leave it be, let a sarcastic remark slip from his lips. “It’s not like I’d want to get stuck with that much paperwork anyway.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More angst  
Discussion of ignorance of suspected child abuse  
Mentions of death
> 
> Tell me if you need extra tags.
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long! Whoops!

The interrogation room was a silvery grey, and the mirrored glass Alex stood behind, flanked by Diana and Clinton as Peter took a statement from Yassen, made the world appear even more shadowy than it was. Petrov’s answers were quick and clear, his lawyer nodding the slightest bit every so often. Alex wasn’t particularly worried about picking holes in whatever tale he was spinning. It had most likely been composed to be as watertight as possible, otherwise he’d wouldn’t have even agreed to talk to the feds. He would have released a prepared statement and been done with it. 

No. What bothered Alex was the sidelong glances that Clint and Diana kept throwing at him, acting as if he had not made his living off of knowing who was looking at him at any moment. As per usual, their subtlety left much to be desired. They had been even more obvious when Yassen had given a short statement, mostly limiting his answers to his and Petrov’s approximate locations during the robbery and assurances that he would give them surveillance tapes (likely altered) and, of course, nobody at the compound had anything to do with the robbery. At all. 

Alex had snorted at that one. With the sophistication, the clear knowledge of when the compound would be near if not totally empty- it all pointed to having at least one person on the inside. The question of possible suspects who would have a reason to commit the crime had gained a simple shrug of resigned hopelessness.

Alex hadn’t managed to totally withhold a soft “Possibly the CIA?” He didn’t think that any of the others had managed to overhear. He could, of course, just deny it if they had, but it wasn’t as if everyone wasn’t aware of the interest the government had in Russian oligarchs. 

Yassen was lurking in the corner of the interrogation room, only permitted in as he’d refused to leave his principal alone. The rest of the team- including Fox- has already given minimal statements and been escorted firmly to a conference room, with an agent in the room to ensure no sneaking photos of confidential files. Alex has been watching Yassen intently. He had the perfect bodyguard expression, a certain perfection of totally watchful but unaware of the topic discussed in his presence. No doubt that as he was watching he was also memorizing the account Petrov gave- but no one else could guess that. Alex didn’t want to think about the discussion they were sure to have that night. He was beginning to feel thin, his alexness worn away by years of Neal living to the extreme, but now Neal was being stretched between Yassen and Peter, stuck between what wasn’t and what could be, a tightly wound thread being picked apart by his proximity to such variances in his life. What if Peter started to question aspects of his story that would almost never line up with one another? What if Fox was more loyal to the agency that nearly killed Alex than Alex himself? What if Yassen was actually planning on killing his principal? What if Fox- moraled Fox, who no one ever suspected of foul play, who always seemed to be morally sound even as he spied and killed for his country- what if Fox had moved into the world of black ops?

The microphones crackled as they began transmitting and recording, and Diana instinctively double checked the equipment. It wouldn’t do to mess up a case with Petrov involved, after all. 

“Mr. Petrov, can you please be clearer regarding who might be interested in the contents of the safe?” Peter tightened his shoulders as Petrov’s lawyer tapped his clients arm. 

“My client has prepared a list of possible suspects, which will be handed to you at the close of this interview.”

“Can you read the list aloud to enter it into the record, please?” Peter’s shoulders twitched again, showcasing his annoyance to the watchers. 

“My client respectfully declines.” The lawyer once again answered for Petrov, much to Peters growing annoyance. He never could deal with subterfuge, could he?

“Is there anything your client would like to place on the record, aside from his previous statement that the Mr. Petrov read out?”

“We assert that my client had nothing to do with the theft, and he is documented as being out of the country with his security team. We also have extensive knowledge of his employees background and do not believe that any would have been complicit in this crime, however we are willing to search any fingerprints you found in our personal database in case you find any so long as you include a precise location so that we might eliminate any of your suspects as they might have been given access to the safe by Mr. Petrov.”

The microphone crackled again due to feedback, and Alex gave up on listening. It had already descended into pointless legalese, and the sound of soft mutters ran over his ears. Ugh, lawyers. Alex had learned to respect the men who could confound an entire legal department or wiggle out of punishments and convictions, however, he’d also not totally lost the mild disinterest or disrespect most of the grunts had cultivated. Generally when someone is complaining about the letter of the law as you dodge bullets, a mild annoyance grows. Alex rubbed his thumb against his index finger, searching for something that was no longer there. He clenched his eyes shut, and let loose a terse sigh. When had his life grown so complicated- so insecure? Okay, he could pin down the exact date his comfy childhood had come crashing down, but he still didn’t even know what his beloved uncles’ aim had been with him. The perfect child spy? The next generation Rider? Maybe just protection in case anyone tried to get revenge for Hunter’s actions? What about Tom? Had his uncle known about Tom's family life and just chosen to ignore it? The yells, the isolation, Jerry fleeing to Italy as soon as he could, the recurring times Tom slept over at his home, the small stockpile Tom had established at Alex’s- had the spy so simply ignored the occurrences, glad for his nephew and ward to have such a close ‘friend’?

“Caffrey.”

“Caffrey, come on.”

“Goddamnit, Caffrey, let's go!” An outstretched hand grabbed the shoulder of Neal’s coat and pulled him out of the viewing room. 

Alex looked up, blinking slowly. Petrov and Yassen had left the interrogation room. He cursed himself- that was an unacceptable loss of awareness. Fuck. 

Diana led Alex back to the bullpen. The two teams were already mingling around, but still eyes darted towards him as he entered. He nodded at Peter, but turned his back to head over to Yassen. Damn all the politicking, he was barely even considered a member of the team. He’d walk his own path. 

Fox saw his movement, and flanked his right arm, leaving Alex on point between the two other men. Yassen had already been slightly apart from Petrov and his guard, as per his custom, and the sudden flanking maneuver had only left them appearing to be the third front in the bullpen, instead of uninvolved, as Alex had intended. 

“So, we meeting up after?” Fox whispered.

“Seems so.” Alex returned.

“Little one, my fingerprints- “

“You haven’t already sorted that?” Alex shot a glare at Yasha. What kind of reckless idiot-

“Bit hard to, when you’re dead.”

“I’ll have Moz deal with it tonight, then I’ll have Smithers double check for you by running old evidence, okay?”

“Good.” Yasha let out a silent sigh, glad to know his prints would not collapse the whole cover.

It wouldn’t do for a SCORPIA assassin to suddenly be found live and in contact with a young, mysterious escape artist after all. That would be a huge red flag to Six and many other unwanted groups. 

“Got anything to share with the class, Caffrey?” Peters voice boomed over the audience, interrupting their plotting. 

“I never do!” Alex returned jauntily, summoning up enough of Neal’s personality to pacify the old accountant.

Peter rolled his eyes slightly. “Of course, that would totally go against your profile.”

“And you know it!”

Fox was starting to look decidedly unamused, and elbowed Alex to shut him up.

“Hey! Stop it Billy!” Alex snarled without malice.

“Billy? It’s William, Neally. Crevan if you must.”

“Okay, Billy.”

“Dammit Orlov, control him!” Fox jokingly threw at Yasha.

“If you cannot get him to stop, then don’t start anything with him, Crevan. I would have expected you to know that.” Yassen ignored Fox’s pleas, brushing him off with a hidden smile. If the suit was willing to joke with him, the suit was probably not going to turn him in or shoot him. Feds were never as capricious as rouge agents or terrorists, where your good standing coniutously relied on your worth and reputation, and could change at any time without erasing or warning. Governments, at least, usually had to provide reasoning when they hunted someone down.

“Mr. Petrov, if you’d like, Caffrey, Crevan and I will begin the diversion when you return to the compound, we will return to the group tomorrow when you return here to the Hoover building.”

Petrov looked over them with steely eyes, but nodded and began in Russian “Of course. Take the SUV with the heavily tinted windows. I’ll head out fifteen minutes after you leave.”

“Da, ser.” Yassen turned to leave, and Fox and Alex followed him, glad to finally get to leave.

They walked silently together as the escaped earshot of any of the agents, before Alex muttered beneath his voice only to the other two. “So, no murdering each other yet, okay? We save that for alternate Tuesdays.”

“Routines are dangerous Cub” Fox muttered back.

“Shut up, both of you. Wait for the car, then we can talk. This placed is probably bugged to hell and back.” Yasha, as always, showcased his paranoia.

“Please!” Alex scoffed. “On the feds budget? You only have to worry about the elevators, not the hallway to the agent parking lot.”

“Paranoia saves lives, little one.” Yassen shot back, and opened the car door with a sarcastic flourish. “Get in.”

“I’m gonna die.” Fox sarcastically whimpered as he swung himself up into the back seat and slammed shut the door. “I’m good, let’s go.”


	11. Three Old Gossips and a Garage Opener

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why would I finish one fic before starting the other, instead of having two to keep you on edge? 
> 
> Some of this was written while tipsy. New year, same old boring party. Drink responsibly or not at all. 
> 
> New York must have radiators, I’ve never been there but I hear it’s cold as fuck.

So, can we talk now?” Fox was quite put out after his sixth slap from Alex and Yassen for speaking before they said it was safe. He could empathize with them normally, but his stinging body had quickly shortened his temper.

“Two more minutes.” Yassen grunted out as he jerked the steering wheel harshly. 

“Oof!” Fox’s body slammed against the door next to him, knocking all the oxygen out of his lungs. “What was that for?”

“Keep backseat driving, and I’ll miss our turn in.” Yassen turned from the wheel to glare at Fox. “That will not be fun for you. Me perhaps, but not you.”

Fox recoiled, but turned to Alex. “Alex! Back me up here won’t you? You wouldn’t let him kill me!”

“I mean, living might be worse but sure, I’ll try to talk him down.”

“You’re so useful, don’t you know, Al?” 

“Please, he’s useful until you need to be subtle.” Yassen laughed at his own joke, reminiscing about all the times Alex had thrown away the mission brief to do something unnecessary and usually explosive.

“Says the pyromaniac!” Alex smacked Yassen’s shoulder, confident that both their SCORPIA files classified them as pyromaniacs.

“Please, pyrofiliac, not pyromaniac. I don’t allow myself to be controlled by my love for fire.”

“....Yasha, that’s a kink, not a behavioural disorder.” Alex look on, aghast at Yassen’s word choice. How many times had he introduced himself to clients like that? No wonder he was cast as fearless. 

“Well, it’s never caused my clients to classify me as incapable.” Yasha shrugged it off, but winced a little to himself. Maybe learning English on an island dedicated to training current and future murderers was not the best way to go about it.

Fox finally piped up. “Probably because they were too bloody scared, Cossack, have you considered that?”

“...no?”

“Fucking hell, how’d you ever manage to stay alive?” Alex stared in disbelief at the others. 

“Don’t ask, Cub, I don’t want to know!” Fox screeched, reminding Alex eerily of Eagle. 

“Oh, shut up, both of you.” Yasha shouted, and all fell silent. “Anyway, we’re here. Get out.”

“But-“

“Out!”

“Oooohh, the big bad man’s angry!” Alex whispered jokingly to Fox.

“Take cover!” Fox shot back.

SMACK. “Dammit!” Fox winced again, rubbing his arm. 

“Wait until we get into Caffrey’s apartment and we clear the place, okay?” Yassen scowled at Fox. Alex quietly noted that Cossack wasn’t favouring Fox as much as he had wanted- he did want Yasha to at least endear himself to Six. Hopefully, he was trying to give himself a stronger hand to barter with? 

He sighed. Couldn’t Yassen play nice at least once? He’d taken more shit from his clients and still obeyed them like a favored guard dog. Prideful imbecile. 

“This is it.” Alex nodded his head towards his door, and walked straight in. He hadn’t bothered to put any defenses that Yasha or Fox would have expected, barring a few cameras. Mrs. June, Peter, and half the FBI had access to his flat anyhow. Minor violations of privacy weren’t worth getting all prissy about if you knew about it beforehand.

Alex strode confidently forward, leaving the two others behind, and pull to his drapes. Turning to the radiator right next to them, he pried the side panel off, and reached inside. Ignoring Fox’s wince- an entertaining memory of the Unit being stuck in a safe house trying to warm American MREs on a radiator came to mind, which had resulted in multiple burns- he pressed on curiously cold pipe.

The radiator swang to the side, revealing drywall with the tiniest cracks in it- all of which lines up in disordered chaos to form a near perfect square the size of an ancient television. Fitting a credit card into the miniscule cracks, he pried the slab of drywall off of the wall, and leant it against the radiator. A cardboard box sat in plain view, and Alex lifted it up to place it on the table. 

“The fuck?” Fox whispered, but was quickly silenced by a glare sent by the two others.

Alex rummaged around for a second, withdrew an electric garage opener, and clicked the first right hand button. 

The lights cut off, and the room immediately plunged into near darkness and total silence.

The silence was broken by Fox. “Again- I repeat, what the fuck?”

“What, like you’ve never had to have fun with household materials?” Alex retorted snidely. 

“No, in fact I wouldn’t trust either of you in a home goods store even with supervision!” Fox glared back, true anger missing from his tone. 

Yasha nodded. “Fair.”

“Get along you two, before I get you marriage counseling.” Alex rolled his eyes, replaced the garage clicker back in the box. “It was an EMP- and trust me, I’ve tested it. It’ll deal with anything hardened to EMPs just as handily as the lights.”

“Our phones?” Yassen inquired softly.

“Out like a light. Don’t worry, the hard rides probably weren’t damaged?”

“Probably?” Fox scoffed.

“I mean, yeah- had to temper it a little bit to not mess with the feds surveillance. Ended up doing a bit of home improvement on my ankle monitor to make sure it could deal with it, but hey- I also got to remove anything I didn’t like within the unit, including designing my own electronic key!” Alex smiled broadly, not mentioning that Mozzie had played a bit of a role in helping him. It wouldn’t do to implicate buddies in a scheme, after all.

“It better.” Fox growled, then pulled out his phone to button mash- with no response.

“So, Fox, ignoring your phone- which won’t work, you can stop trying before you find the secret combination that Smithers installs on all his phones to turn them into hand grenades.” Alex smirked as Fox uttered a sharp curse and threw the phone towards the couch, half-squatting in preparation to dive behind cover. “So you are Six then, I’d wondered if you’d gone rouge.”

“Bloody hell, Cub, couldn’t you at least give a man a warning about Smithers? He’s gone mental, hasn’t he?” Fox responded. He was still looking a bit peaked about his cell phone.

“Well, he’s something isn’t he? Brilliant or mad, I’ve never really figured out. He’s reliable, though. Trustworthy, with a good head on him. Which is something you would do well to pick up. Now, Daniels- what is the mission you were assigned?” Yassen’s face was empty of all emotions, but his eyes were flint-hard and frozen.

“Why would I want to answer that, kid? You’ve worked so hard to get out of our world. I’ll not be the reason you come back!” Fox’s voice ended stridently, and he took a wracking breath, discomforted by the topic of discussion.

“No, I haven’t.” Alex’s voice was quiet but sure, and the other two froze.

“I’ve never managed to totally get free. This isn’t a house with a picket fence, a dog and 2.5 kids. It’s just another cage. It’s temporary. I’m not going to get to keep this, it’s a time limit of two years, and I can’t extend that without losing it and ending back up in prison!”

Gently, Yassen asked “Why don’t you try for a consultant job? Or do research or something similar for the feds? You’re dead useful, if you haven’t noticed. They’d probably love to have you.”

“Hah. Background checks, Yasha. They’re willing to work with me only so long as they control me.” Alex laughed darkly. “And I’ve sent a message to Smithers, he’ll be switching your prints with Ian’s, and fudging with your DNA profile so we still register as half brothers but can’t be tracked back to England. Cover is that you gave me a room when you found out your da cheated on your mum and had me, but didn’t want to break up your family so you never confronted your father about it, m’kay?”

“Thank you, but stop dodging the matter at hand. It’s not like they still don’t think yours theirs, even when you’re clearly not. You could allow them to think they can control you. Leave when you need to. You could even come up with a decent sob story on your parents to cry about, showing emotional weakness is more likely to make others trust you. Use that!” Yassen took a step forward into Alex’s space, and Alex immediately pushed him back a step. 

“Yassen!” Fox barked. “Al is right, it doesn’t work like that for agencies, even with you they do it all electronic, never meeting in person. When they bring people in, they trust them- they won’t want to trust Caffrey, especially as he never willingly plead guilty. He took a cushy plea deal that protected him from excess questioning, don't forget it. They’re also not going to give him special treatment as they don’t even think he’s Alex- to them he’s Caffrey- just a skilled thief and nothing more.”

“Actually,” Alex began. “Errr, they’re not particularly certain about Caffrey either, I never bothered making a childhood for me and then it was too obvious if I created one after the fact.”

“The fuck, Sacha?” Yassen exploded. “The most simple aspect! You never even bothered? You reckless, useless idiot!”

“Hey, they just assumed I’d done it to protect my family and then didn’t know how to make a new past, it actually worked out!” Alex defended himself vigorously, but was well aware of his luck.

“For fucks’ sake!” Fox gasped out. “Well, at least they’ll accept that your family situation is complicated.”

“Aww, thanks for the compliment, Fox. But again, your mission? I’ve let you joke about but dude… you’re talking to two dead guys.” Alex said.

“I’m ignoring that, you pillock.” Fox wagged a finger at the two men, and began again. “I’m surveillance, technically, as they think that Petrov had been moving money and then when running the security team, they didn’t find any background on you, Yassen, nothing enough to convince them that you were real. Then they saw your scar- good job covering it up, by the way, but it’s listed under “identifying marks” and they instantly decided to take a closer look to check out who you are.”

“And your report?” Yassen growled. “You’ve been on the team for months, now.”

“Ah- deep cover, as it was argued by the analysts that I would end up dead or tortured if caught reporting to Six, even if you weren’t Yassen Gregorovitch. I’m to confirm or deny their suspicions when I go on vacation.” Fox grinned. “So you’ve three months to either kill me, disappear me, or disappear yourself. You’re welcome.”

“Whaaa- Welcome?” Yassen sputtered out. “I’m fucked. Unless I fake my death- again, mind you, all their options will result in me being found alive. What am I meant to do now?”

Fox shrugged. “I dunno, request a contract with six and agree to a certain amount of jobs per year in exchange for protection and money? Include your “brother” in it and maybe they’ll leave him alone as well. They don’t need to know he’s not actually your brother, fake documents would do just as well considering that Al would have been born during the… unrest.”

“They’re not overly fond of me, and we are actual half brothers, thanks. Hunter fathered me when while deep cover in a chemical lab in Soviet Russia, he’d been seconded from SAS to Six to pretend to be security at the base and had ended up having a roll in the hay with my mother as she was the wife of the highest ranking scientist. Of course, he was recalled when my step-father was thrown in a Gulag. He did pick me up a few years later, though, when he heard that I had been sold to SCORPIA.” Yassen shrugged, having been resigned to his fate many years prior.

Fox stared. “I’d known you two had a shit hand in life, but you’re really driving it home right now.”

“Well, what else do ya expect from us? Yasha was raised as a servant and then an assassin, and I was raised to be everything my uncle needed me to be- a useful cover, a spy, a soldier and eventually the assassin too. But back to the original topic, because you are again avoiding the subject: what’re you going to do about us?” Alex rolled his shoulder and leant against the countertop of his studio flat. He didn’t bother to hide his worry, it would convince Fox to be more honest, anyhow.

“Look, I can’t lie about you, Gregorovitch. I’m not sorry- I won’t lie to you. I don’t want to give you up but I have to think about myself and my family, and honestly I’m not even sure about trusting you. I only know that you want to protect Alex. If you agree, I’ll tell Six that you found out who I was by searching my stuff, then told me and offered your services to my bosses, in exchange for certain non negotiable caveats. Keep Alex out of it, and we’ll be almost friends. You can request your handler, it’ll usually be accepted as a cost of doing business- so will a few of your lower priority jobs, although I suggest avoiding politicians for a little bit, especially British and Swiss ones.” Fox offered the compromise quietly, unsure of its reception. Despite having Cub’s favour, Cossack could always decide to remove him from a distance and Al would be able to do little if anything to prevent it.

“Request your handler? You mean choose you? Give your career the boost of being known as the agent who collared the Cossack?” Yassen spat.

Fox shook his head. “No. Being known as the agent who contracted the Cossack. It would offer protection to Alex, too, you know. The higher up I am, the more my backing of non interference would be worth.” 

Yassen looked away. “I’ll consider it… but do you really think that they’ll leave Alex alone? He can’t be involved with our world, he might skim the surface but it’s not his place. He might be among the best, but I still don’t want him involved.”

“Haven’t you heard? Blunt is dead. I thought it was you, when I heard you might still be alive. Single shot, slightly over five hundred meters, engraved with a modified version of Hunter's insignia?” Fox raised an eyebrow at Yassen.

Yassen blink, one long slow blink, before staring glassily at Fox. He blinked again, this time a bit quickly, then whipped around to stare at Alex, Fox imitating him. 

“What?” Alex said.

“ALEX!” yelled the other two.

“Well, I was told that if I was going to leave, I should do so in style.” Alex grinned.

Fox groaned. “And who gave you this great advice?”

“Oh, a very flowery, well known friend… sometimes I can almost feel her walking over my cold, empty grave.” Alex laughed hysterically as he finished, maybe he hadn’t taken Jones’ advice in the way she had meant it, but it had left an impression… and a very busy, overworked Six when he had done his disappearance.

“God, Sasha, really?” Yassen groaned. “At least it wasn’t attributed to you.”

“Yeah, as that’s the only advantage here.” Fox gritted out.

“So, basically, yes, I did, but that doesn’t matter now as they won’t know. We just need to organize our stories and decide on specific legalese to include in the contract if we decide to go down that route. We have three months to decide all that, though, so don’t panic and kill anyone- I’m talking to you, Yassen. If we don’t, Yassen will just have to disappear and Fox, you’ll report me as just a low level thief who’s not as good as you were led to believe.” Alex nodded firmly to himself, then pulled out his garage clicker again and clicked the other small button. Yassen and Fox’s phones began vibrating, and they instinctively reached for them.

“Petrovs’ been wondering where we are.” Yassen remarked.

“You mean he’s been double texting us and demanding to know our location, without even giving us time to reply, the ungrateful git.” Fox clarified.

“Well, yeah.” Yassen said. 

“I guess you’ll be having to make a move on, then?” Alex asked.

“Yeah,” Fox said. “See ya tomorrow, Cub. Look after yourself, yeah?”

“Of course, you mangy rat.” Alex playfully shoved Fox, before sobering up. “Be careful, I’d hate to have to deal with anyone unnecessarily. I’ll see you tomorrow, if I can. See ya, bruv.”

Yassen and Fox headed out, smiles turning to glass as the facades of Orlov and Crevan overtook their faces once more. Alex turned back to his flat, locking the door. They’d see each other in the morning.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A picture is worth a thousand words.
> 
> A video is worth a thousand pictures.

Alex woke up, almost cursing himself when he realised that everything had been real. He’d revealed so much, he’d opened himself up for so many different problems… but he didn’t really regret it. It had been one of the most relaxing days as Neal, and that included all the times when it was just him, adrenaline, and the objective. Being Sasha, with Fox and Cossack, it had just been so open, so clear. There had been nothing to hide, nothing to gloss over or line up stories with. 

Alex missed that.

Funny, that the con man would only love truth. Ironic too- it wasn’t as if his entire life had been one big cosmic joke. Covers were just so difficult to maintain day after day, month after month. Sometimes, he was so deep in being ‘Neal Caffrey, Con Man and Art Thief Extraordinaire” that he nearly forgot that he had been someone else before- the greatest mindfuck he could imagine. But he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, so he supposed he could make the best of it, as he’d been doing. 

Suddenly, a pound ringing noise echoed throughout the apartment, and Alex groaned. It was his work phone going off- Peter was probably trying to call him. He didn’t even know what time it was- what if he’d overslept?

He hit accept call, and groaned out. “Whaaa?”

“Wake up, Caffrey.” Came through the speakers. “We’re coming to pick you up, we recently got access to some of Petrov’s surveillance footage and some prints came back, too. We’re about to go over if but if you get down here in GM five minutes I’ll give you a ride.”

“With June? Give me ten, she’ll offer you a cup of tea?” 

“I’ll consider it.” Peter returned.

Alex smiled. “Thanks, Peter.” 

“Of course, Neal.”

Alex was really glad that Peter seemed willing to play nice after the previous day. El had probably had a hand (or two) to do with it, but really. aside from Cossack and Fox, he was as close to Peter as someone on diametrically opposed sides could get, at least in terms of platonic semi-professional relationships. He’d do a lot for Peter. Alex wasn’t the greatest at remaining neutral and unattached- as his brief time at SCORPIA had taught him, but even Peter was special, managing to sympathize with and calm an eternially anxious scheming con man. Better Peter than Hughes or anyone else who simply wanted to hold the infamous Neal Caffreys’ collar.

Alex rolled over, throwing on his clothes with a tired groan. He’d lain awake for so long last night, thinking over the day. He’d barely got any sleep, but it would have to do. He wouldn’t pull another one of his three day long all nighters. His performance usually slipped drastically after the second day.

He walked into the lower floors with just his keys and a small wallet in his pocket. He needed no more, and he wouldn’t be changing any time soon. Personal items were a little bare on the options for a felon.

“Oh, Neal, my dear boy!” June exclaimed dramatically as he walked into her parlor.

“Hello Mrs. June.” Neal replies with a soft smile. 

Agent Burke was sitting elegantly on a plush chair, a cup of tea in one hand with a piece of shortbread in the other. Walkers’ shortbread, if Mrs. June had kept to her habits. She never really differed from them much. Predictable, she was. Safe, but predictable.

“Well, thank you, for everything Mrs. June, but we really must be getting on now.” Peter told her gently. 

She smiled back. “Of course, my dear. Do come back, I’d like to hear about this new case. Neal hasn’t discussed it with me as much as he usually does. In fact, he spent all last night shut up in his rooms! Didn’t even bother with our Thursday dinner nights!”

“Did he?” Peter said curiously.

Neal gritted his teeth. “We’re getting behind, Peter. We should be getting on now.”

“Okay, Neal.” Peter said, getting off the chair and carrying the teacup through to the kitchen to place it in the sink. “Let’s go then, I guess.”

They walked out of the home and got into the generic black SUV Peter had borrowed from the car pool. Neal distractedly tapped the tinting in the front seat. Normally, he sat in the back and Clint or Diana took the front, so he wasn’t accustomed to it. There were too many angles available- at least in the back he had cover. Alex started scanning, checking out everyone and everything they drove past. Who knew what they might be? He’d been a child before, and yet much more. He didn’t- he didn’t- Alex-

“Caffrey, whatever is going on your mind, either tell me or think about something else.” Peter carefully adjusted the rear view mirror.

“It’s nothing, Peter.” Neal looked away from the windows. “I’m just tired.”

“You were up all night, weren’t you? June said you didn’t come down for dinner. She must not have seen you order in, either.”

“Nah, I just ate food from my room and then went to sleep. Didn’t have a late night. I did get to talk with my brother and his work buddy, though.”

“Brother?” Peter said, confused. “You have a brother? We didn’t get any siblings come up on your background check.”

“He wouldn’t have.” Neal said, trying his best to look resigned. “I’m his half-brother. I didn’t even know about him until my uncle mentioned him. I didn’t want to upset his parents, so I didn’t bring it up to them. Ivan let me stay with him, though.”

“But why’d he called you Sasha and him Yasha then?”

“His dad was also Ivan, and one of his uncles too. It was a popular name. Instead of being a Vanya or a Junior, he chose to go by Yasha instead. Simpler, really.”

“Simpler.” Peter looked over at him with concern written into his face. Neal knew that he’d always worried about the kind of upbringing that Neal had had, but he had at least hoped that Peter would butt out when Neal began to act hostile.

“Yeah.” Neal stared out the window, determined to ignore whatever Peter asked next.

Peter huffed softly as he turned into the FBI parking structure, nodding at the man as he passed both IDs over to the gate guard.

Handing over their IDs again as they went through security, Neal dodged inquisitive eyes of agents who’d seem the previous days’ display. Such nosy people- he’d probably have to get Cossack to ‘convince’ a few to back off.

“This way.” Peter motioned with a tilt of his head, and Neal quickly followed after. Just like the good little collared felon the suites expected him to be.

They walked not to their offices, but to a room with huge screens coating every surface possible. Three techs bustled about the room, switching keyboards and computers seemingly random, setting up one search programme before quickly shutting down another completed one. One, however, stopped to look at them. “Oh, hello!”

“Hey.” Neal responded with a bright smile, tilting his head just so and making direct eye contact.

“No, Neal.” Peter said, lightly shoving Alex’s shoulder. “We’re here to view the footage that was delivered here yesterday? From the Petrov case?”

“Of course! We’ll get that up right away… Wait the Petrov case? White collar theft, right? From the vault?” The tech faltered. “We, err, we may have to wait a bit on that…”

“Why?” Peter looked totally taken aback, and Neal had to suppress a giggle that tried to escape. So the big man didn’t like being told to wait by a tech, huh? Expected a little bit of respect for his oh so high position? Neal smirked safely out of Peters eyesight. It would be a bad idea to annoy the computer nerds. They could fill your computer with all sorts of fun malware, and then keep their job simply because feds couldn’t get enough hackers who didn’t have a taste for weed. Smithers taught him that, and Mozzie had only confirmed it.

The tech sighed. “It has a password lock to it, and we haven’t been able to crack it. Corinne contacted the man who delivered it, and he said he’d come round to unlock it at ten A.M.”

Peter glanced at his watch. It was only a few minutes until ten. He sat down in an unoccupied chair, and nodded for Neal to do so as well.

Neal plopped down next to him, extending his legs as far as they could go and hanging his arms over the side- the very image of decadence despite the cheap, rigid chair. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the chair. He was actually pretty tired. Despite his habits, his exhaustion hadn’t been a farce this time. “So,” he muttered, not expecting a reply. “Why aren’t we pressuring Petrov?”

“Not here.” Agent Burke snapped back. “Not now.”

Alex cracked his eyes open in confusion. “Why not? We’re in the home of paranoid computer freaks. They probably don’t even have electronic locks at home, never mind permitting surveillance at work.”

“I am not having this conversation.”

Alex rolled his head towards Peter carelessly. “I think we should. What I don’t know can and will hurt us.”

“Caffrey. Enough.” Peters curt responds only encouraged Alex to press harder. Why would the fed suddenly be so tight about this when he was otherwise loose with his secrets?

“You’re being tighter about this than Fort Knox, and I know Fort Knox.”

“No you don’t, Caffrey,” Peter sighed, and scratched his head anxiously. “He’s turned state's witness.” Peter let out in a whispered rush.

Alex nearly jolted out of his carefully relaxed facade. “What?”

“Sh!” Peter admonished. “Recently. Don’t tell your brother!”

“But- he’ll- What if he gets caught up in your investigation? It would be entrapment!”

“It wouldn’t!” Peter protested, before raising his voice to normal levels as footsteps echoed down the hallway. “Don’t be inpatient, Caffrey, heaven knows you’ve had longer waits.”

“Just because I have doesn’t mean I have to accept it.” Neal grouched, before rising to greet the men walking towards them with Peter.

“Orlov, Crevan, and Mr.?” Peter greeted the ‘bodyguards’.

“This is Bower.” Yassen grunted, before turning to business. “We have the codes to unlock the recording, if you will show it to us.”

“Of course.” Peter gestured towards the original tech. “Very polite.” He murmured, hoping no one would catch it. He didn’t need any more drama.

Yassen shot him a sharp glare, but didn’t mention it otherwise. It wouldn’t be his problem if the agent decided to smart mouth his superiors one day despite his orders for Caffrey to be careful with his own words. Wordlessly, he typed in his passcode and stepped away from the computer. 

Peter nodded in bitter thanks as the tech pulled up the footage relevant to the day of the theft, and pressed play. For a few minutes, no movement appeared- no guards, no animals, not even a domestic servant. 

The tech displayed the time stamp, and Cossack muttered in annoyance.

“What was that, Mr. Orlov?” Peter asked Yasha tacklessly. 

“This isn’t the right time. You need to forward it by about thirty-eight hours before the theft could have taken place.” He responded delicately.

The technician looked at Peter to confirm the directive, before fast-forwarding the recording. 

Within seconds, Alex's eyes had widened as he exclaimed. “Stop it!”

The video shuddered, before focusing on a shrouded figure, a face just barely peeking up at the camera. 

“Can you zoom in?” Alex asked roughly. He thought he might already know who it was, but…

Alex stared at the screen grab of the face, committing every line and shadow to his memory, he couldn’t believe- he’d thought him dead- he didn’t know who was dead or living, now. 

The man's face was a light tan, his hair the color of Alex’s as a youth- dirty blond, with streaks of gold. He wore no rings nor other jewelry. Alex had asked him about it once, and he’d replied that they were useless. Such shows of extravagance, he’d been told, would only aid the authorities in identifying you. For this particular job, he’d donned a workman’s jumpsuit, a sanitation company advertised on his lapel, with the heavy boots to match. Alex would give him points for his dedication to a cover, but the time for points in training had long since gone.

As Alex looked into a computer screen, his face reflected in the lights by Walkers’ work grin, he cursed his luck. Surely the universe wouldn’t play this many tricks on him at once?

“I recognize him…” Agent Burke admitted in disbelief. “A red notice- hey can you bring up Interpol red notices from five years ago?” Peter asked the tech, his face still etched with confusion. “It can’t be..”

“What?” Cossack said, playing his role to the best he could. If his face popped up on those notices- 

“That one.” Peter tapped the screen, then nodded in approval as a photo was enlarged. A US flag stood in the background, a familiar man smiling in a suit in front of it. “Walker. One of ours- well, the CIAs. A traitor.”

“It’s a match, sir.” The tech butted in, and blanched at the thought of a threat with extensive knowledge of their protocols. 

His face pale and eyes wide, Peter stood up. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. We’ll contact you later.” He did his best to shoo the three security agents out of the computer lab, but Neal intercepted his half-brother for a farewell.

Hugging him. Alex had his mouth behind Yasha’s head. “Petrov’s a snitch” he whispered as they broke apart. Raising his voice, he continued. “Been good to see you. Should we make this a weekly arrangement?”

Yassen laughed, only half-faked. “Maybe a little less than that. We’re not exactly the unemployed lumps we used to be, eh?”

“No, we aren’t.” Alex confirmed with a wry smile as the other men were firmly escorted out.

**Author's Note:**

> This is much shorter than I hope chapters will be but it’s nearly midnight and I have an early morning tomorrow. Sorry.


End file.
